Occurrences At Black Cat Coffee
by Wojciechowski
Summary: ATWQ. A report of various and sundry occurrences taking place at Black Cat Coffee (Stain'd-by-the-Sea, corner of Caravan and Parfait) concerning Ellington Feint and Dashiell Qwerty, that occurred during Lemony Snicket's apprenticeship in said town.
1. Occurrence The First

It was well after midnight in Stain'd-by-the-Sea. The moon was bright and low, casting long shadows into the lonely streets, as if trying to fade the town even faster. However, the streets were not quite completely deserted. Had anyone been watching very closely, they may have caught a glimpse of movement on the one labeled Caravan. Moderately paced movement it was, the purposeful kind that signified neither panic nor idleness. This was the movement of Dashiell Qwerty, making his way to Black Cat Coffee.

The corner of Caravan and Parfait was empty when he arrived, but Black Cat Coffee was not. At the counter amidst the shiny machinery and player piano music sat Ellington Feint with a cup of coffee. She did not look up when he walked in.

Dashiell pressed the C button for coffee, and sat down one seat over from Ellington.

"Hello, Mr. Qwerty," she said.

"Hello, Ms. Feint," the sub-librarian replied.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, just to be sure that no one else was about to walk in. The only sound was that of the player piano, tinkling away at its melancholic tune that it never seemed to tire of. Qwerty knew the name of the song, but he didn't much like it. It reminded him of something only too dear.

"Do you have what I asked for?" Ellington asked, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible.

"I do," Qwerty replied, just as quietly. "But how do I know I can trust you?"

Ellington shot him an indignant glance.

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Because your name isn't Ellington Feint." Others may have called it rash. Dashiell Qwerty called it a calculated shot in the dark.

The girl whose name wasn't Ellington Feint smiled. It was a smile that, for all Lemony Snicket knew, could have meant anything. But this time Dashiell Qwerty knew exactly what it meant.

"And your name is not Dashiell Qwerty," the girl who called herself Ellington Feint said.

The sub-librarian whose name was not Dashiell Qwerty smiled. They had both been on the same trail all along, and now they had both been proven correct. Reassured, he reached into a pocket of his leather jacket and retrieved a small sugar bowl, which he offered to Ellington.

"No thank you, I don't take sugar," she said.

"At least try some."

The sub-librarian who called himself Dashiell Qwerty gave her a meaningful glance, and Ellington understood that this was more than a matter of sugar. She took the container, lifted its lid just enough to see the tiny commonplace book concealed within it, and slipped it into a pocket of her own.

"Thank you." Ellington took a thoughtful sip of coffee before continuing. "Have there been many people coming to the library?"

Qwerty looked at her curiously for a moment before answering. "Do you mean have I met Snicket?"

"I mean, has he been to the library?"

"Yes. He's been coming quite often. You've met him, then?"

Ellington nodded.

"Just this evening. He fell out of a hawser, and I had to get him down from the tree he landed in. What do you make of him?"

"Well, he has his secrets—like all of us, I suppose; though I have a feeling that his may be of a deeper nature, if you take my meaning. He sent a message to someone at the Fourier Branch, in the form of a book request."

"The Fourier Branch?" She thought for a moment. "But that's where…"

"That's what I thought. What's more, this 'request' read 'Sorry, _But I Cannot Meet You At the Fountain_.'"

"The fountain!"

Qwerty lowered his voice even further.

"And then, a request came in from the Fourier Branch, 'Don T. Worry, _I'll Measure It Myself_.' I know what it looks like, but do you think that's even possible?"

"Yes, it's possible. Of course it's possible. It just depends on who at the Fourier Branch received his request."

She fell silent, and took to drumming her long black fingernails on the surface of the counter, trying to hide from her face the troubled feeling growing within her. After a harsh battle she proved unsuccessful. Dashiell would have known what she was thinking anyway, though, for it was also on his mind.

"Don't worry too much," he said, to console himself as well as Ellington. "Anyone who spends as much time in a library as this Snicket does is bound to be pretty trustworthy."

"Yes. Unless—"

"Unless what?"

"Nothing." Ellington raised her voice abruptly. "I really must get back now, it's terribly late. Good night, Mr. Qwerty."

Without another word Ellington Feint rose from her seat, left Black Cat Coffee, and disappeared once more into the shadows.

"Good night, Ms. Fei—" Qwerty realized that she was already gone, which made the formalities useless. He stopped himself in the middle of her pseudonym, and instead bade good night to her real name, the name of his sister.


	2. Occurrence The Second

As Dashiell Qwerty arrived at the corner of Caravan and Parfait, he realized that he was just in time to catch a glimpse of the girl who was departing from it. She was not a new face in town. Indeed, new faces were almost extinct in Stain'd-By-The-Sea—and the old ones just kept getting older—and though he saw her neither often nor regularly, he had seen her before. This girl came to the library occasionally, to check out certain books on chemistry, and she belonged to the wealthiest family in Stain'd-By-The-Sea. She seemed in a hurry to get out of sight, so he did not bother her with saying hello.

As the sub-librarian entered Black Cat Coffee, he realized that before him sat Ellington Feint, along with a nearly empty cup of coffee.

"Hello, Ms. Feint," he greeted her.

Ms. Feint started and swiftly glanced around. Her eye caught on him and she turned back to her coffee.

"Hello, Mr. Qwerty."

Mr. Qwerty equipped himself with the coffee and slice of bread he had come for, and took a seat before speaking.

"What did Cleo Knight want?" he asked.

"Just some tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes."

"And what does that mean?"

Ellington bit her lip. "I can't tell you that."

"I promise you, I won't repeat a word of it."

"If you knew, you wouldn't be able to keep yourself from repeating it."

Qwerty stole a cautious glance at her.

"Why don't you trust me?"

Ellington shuffled uncomfortably. "I do trust you," she said, "most of the time."

"Why not now?"

"I—well—" But then she turned on her brother with a fierce glare. "You know perfectly well why I don't trust you," she snapped.

After the moment that her words took to sink in, Qwerty sighed. Yes, he knew why she didn't trust him. Ever since their first reunion, he had hoped against all hope that she had forgiven him for it and would now overlook it. Surely other things had taken precedence in her mind. It had happened such a long time ago now, and many things had changed. These hopes were all in vain, though; Ellington Feint was very thorough.

Dashiell Qwerty didn't want to even acknowledge the subject. Instead of directly responding to her, he asked: "Is this something to do with Hangfire?"

"Perhaps," Ellington answered, shortly and quietly. "All I can say is that you won't be seeing me or Cleo Knight again any time soon."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Qwerty entreated. "If you keep giving him what he wants, he'll just keep using you for his own ends, and what good will come of that? Appeasement will get you, and everyone else, nowhere."

That was the end of Ellington's patience.

"You're starting to sound just like Lemony Snicket!" she burst out. "You act like you know everything there is to know about this situation when you've only barely scratched the surface! I am tired of people like you telling me what to do. I understand exactly what I am getting myself into, and I can make up my own mind. Do you care about ever seeing our father again or not? No—no, I expect you wouldn't, would you?"

This was the end of Qwerty's patience. "'Ellington Feint,' do not think for a moment that I don't care!"

"'Dashiell Qwerty,' you certainly have a funny way of showing it. You left us, you ran away—"

"That was a long time ago, you were too young to understand that—"

"I was not too young to understand what it meant when you said you never wanted to see him again: because that was the last thing you said before you left."

So they had come to it anyway. Well, Dashiell thought, perhaps it had been inevitable. That didn't make it hurt less, though. He noticed the music from the piano in the corner, and wished it would stop.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might have regretted that decision?" he asked quietly.

"If you regretted it so much, why didn't you come back?"

The sub-librarian didn't know how to answer this. He knew the answer, to be sure, but he couldn't tell Ellington.

"Because—" He struggled to find a suitable answer that would not give away too much of the truth. "Because other things—and other people—got in the way."

His sister was not satisfied with this answer, and he knew that someday she would unrelentingly press him for the whole story. For now, however, she let the matter rest. Neither of them wanted to say anything more.

At length, Qwerty spoke. "I had better get back to the library," he said. "Be careful," he muttered as an afterthought. Without meeting her eye, he rose and left Black Cat Coffee. His bread and coffee remained untouched on the counter.


End file.
